


The Sweet Facerug Rub

by ellie_hell



Series: Anderson's Sexual Magnetism and Prowess [3]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Facial Hair, Frottage, M/M, Sexual Fantasy, Wet Dream
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-19
Updated: 2013-12-19
Packaged: 2018-01-05 01:01:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1087728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ellie_hell/pseuds/ellie_hell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Anderson's beard has the hots for Sherlock Holmes. This makes its owner uncomfortable and snappish.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Sweet Facerug Rub

Anderson rubbed his bearded cheek against Sherlock’s hairless one, and he smiled when the consulting detective shuddered against him. Then, he slid lower, rubbing against Sherlock’s neck and then licking over the reddened area, soothing the irritated skin. Sherlock hummed in satisfaction, and Anderson bit his chin playfully.

“Please,” Sherlock begged, his eyes wide as his body trembled with arousal he couldn’t contain anymore.

Smirking, Anderson took his time. He stroked the flat expanse of white skin that was Sherlock’s chest, taking his time to catalogue the noises Sherlock was making every time Anderson’s beard rubbed a particularly sensitive spot. He had imagined doing this to the consulting detective several times before, but in his fantasies, Sherlock’s smooth skin was always cold, like a statue sculpted out of the very finest marble. He was now incredibly aware of how wrong he had been; Sherlock was warm. So warm and human that he could feel him even through his thick beard.

“Hurry up, I want you,” Sherlock moaned.

“You’re so eager,” Anderson said as he started rubbing his cheek against Sherlock’s erect penis.

Sherlock’s cock was just like him. It had a big head, and it was more than willing to spit in Anderson’s face. Anderson had longed to touch it for so long that he couldn’t help himself. He licked a long stripe on the underside, tasting formaldehyde, a hint of scarf, and that special taste that was entirely Sherlock. When a fat bead of precome slid down the head of Sherlock’s cock, Anderson chased it down with his cheek and rubbed his beard against it, absorbing the moisture with the eagerness of a man dying of thirst. 

“Oh, Anderson! Show me your prowess!” Sherlock cried as he writhed on the bed. “You’re my first and I want you to--”

But Anderson would never know what Sherlock wanted him to do. He woke up with a start when his alarm rang. He groaned in frustration when the memory of the dream fully hit him. Sighing, he rubbed a hand against his face to chase the sleep away, but he soon jerked his hand away, grimacing. His beard was covered in sweat, obvious sign that it had been deeply affected by the dream. He’d have to shower again and he’d be late to work. Fantastic.

Later that day, when another murder baffled Lestrade’s team and Sherlock was called to the scene, Anderson’s beard started salivating and Anderson started seething. His beard’s attraction to the most infuriating man in Britain was out of control. It had to stop. Tonight, he would shave. He was truly attached to his manly facerug and the magnetism it brought to his whole appearance, but he was sick and tired of his beard’s fantasies invading his thoughts.

“Anderson, did your greasy paws touch my crime scene?” Sherlock asked as he approached the body.

“PISS OFF!” Anderson yelled before turning to walk away, fuming. 

Despite his anger, his beard managed to make him turn around to stare longingly at Sherlock’s bum.


End file.
